


Just Jonathan

by Upset



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: #consoling, #feargas, #hairbrushing, #indepth, #jeromevaleska, #jervistetch, #jimgordon, #jonathancrane, #minorsurgery, #mostlydialoguetbh, #repairing, #secondpersonpov, #talkingwithjonathan, Basicallyasmalloneshot, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upset/pseuds/Upset
Summary: You are a mere citizen of Gotham, your town plagued by the wicked trio of Js. However, you stumble upon an encounter that tugs at the mind and leads you to making some crazy decisions by helping two of Gotham’s most wanted. Will you be their voice of reason?





	1. Chapter 1

Ch1

There he was, laying in Gotham’s filthy streets, Jonathan Crane’s rags singed in flames. You watched at the corner, careful not to make a sound as Captain James Gordon came into view with the notorious Jerome Valeska in his grasp. The two fought mercilessly, exchanging seemingly endless swings, Jerome wielding an oversized metal bat. You held your breath, staring in horror at the violence displayed by Gordon and that monster, Valeska.  
“Come on, Jimbo!” Jerome called in a gritted voice, tapping the bat against the ground and taking a swinging stance. “Throw me your best curve ball, baby!” You moved a few feet closer to get a better look at Jonathan and his burning wardrobe, and for the first time, you noticed another figure lying unconscious beside him: Jervis Tetch. A loud bang made you jump, throwing your attention back to Captain Gordon. His gun was drawn and pointed at Jerome, who began laughing hysterically. He wasn’t hit. “Strike one, Cap!” He brushed off his blazer-coated shoulder and rushed to him, bringing Captain Gordon down with his bat after dodging two more shots. The two ripped into each other, so you glanced ahead to Jonathan and Jervis. 

‘What the hell am I doing?’ 

Without thought, you jumped into your car and started it up, hoping not to catch the attention of the Captain or the assailant. Thrusting the gear shift backwards, you slammed on the gas and were suddenly thrown forward to meet Jonathan and Jervis. The car came to a screeching halt, and you opened the back doors before jumping out and rushing to them. 

‘I’m crazy.’

You threw your pea coat off in a huff and covered the flames that danced across Jonathan Crane’s body, then he was lifted. Of all the stupid things that you could’ve chosen to do that day, swooping down and saving two maniacal fugitives of the law certainly wasn’t on your list. The shots and ragged dialogue subsided just as you shut the door to the car, Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch unconscious and badly burned inside. 

‘This is crazy.’ 

You drove off with the two of them, Captain James Gordon and Jerome Valeska out of sight.


	2. Patching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> malicion now lies in your home, unarmed but on edge. Will you find the right words to say?

Ch2

You were nobody to Jonathan Crane or even Jervis Tetch, and they were nobody to you. In fact, all that you knew of them was that the two of them along with Jerome Valeska had destroyed a good bit of the city. You knew of Jervis’s sadistic, incestual abuse towards his deceased sister. You knew that Jonathan Crane wanted nothing more than to see the world tremble with horror at its greatest fears that are kept buried deep within the psyche. The two were undoubtably fucked up, but beyond that, they were damaged. A curious, sexually deranged boy with too much power and too little supervision and a scared little kid who’d finally grown tired of shaking at his own shadow; that’s who sat in the backseat of your car. That’s who was now recovering in your home.   
Faint movement caught your eye, and you glanced to the bed in the furthest corner of the room.   
“You’re awake.” You breathed in relief, yet your heart suddenly felt caught in your throat when a pair of big, blue eyes met yours.   
“Where’s my suit?” Jonathan questioned demandingly. His voice, behind the stitched mask, was much different than you’d expected. It sounded much softer, lighter. He was no longer so threatening. You took a breath.   
“In repair.” You swallowed hard. “Refueling you as we speak.” He raised a light brow then turned to the whirring sounds coming from the back of the room. The tubes connected to the suit’s chambers were being pumped with fear gas. Fear gas that you’d made while he was unconscious. However, you didn’t make it simply to assist him in crime. When you took his suit off of him piece by piece, a slip of paper fell from the inside of his mask. In it, a formula of different chemicals was scribbled in ink. He must’ve been afraid of Tetch’s hypnotic power and what he might eventually do to him.   
“You looked in my mask.” Jonathan claimed, brows knitted together.   
“Were you that paranoid of Jervis?” You grew bold enough to ask.   
“No paranoia. Just precaution.” He replied coldly, and you nod. “Where is Mr. Tetch?” He asked, eyes dark.   
“Recovering, three rooms down.” You answered simply. “He’s not awake.” Jonathan nodded once then sat straight up when you took a step towards him, wincing in pain and gripping the sheets.   
“Here,” you started for him, toolkit in hand, “let me-“  
“No!” He cried out, wincing against his sudden movement. He pushed back the sheets and tried to stand, though it was short-lived. Jonathan collapsed, leaving you to catch him just before he hit the floor. He cried out in agony against the bare skin of your shoulder, and you helped him back onto the bed. His labored breathing was quelled, and you sat down next to him. “What are you going to do?” He asked, and if you didn’t know any better, you could almost say that there was a tinge of fear in his voice.   
“I’m just going to patch you up. You were burned pretty severely in the explosion, and I need to get fragments out of your skin.” You explained carefully, and he quickly shook his head.  
“No. No, I’m fine.” He interjected.   
“Jonathan-“  
“Don’t call me that!” He shouted, clenching his teeth in pain. You shushed him, easing his tense body and moving closer to him. He took a breath, then pointed a weak finger. “Bring that mirror to me.” It sounded more of a question than a command. You got up and grabbed the full body mirror that rested against the door before setting it in front of the bed. It was in direct view of Jonathan. The boy’s eyes grew wide, and he lifted a hand to his face. There were bandages and bloody scratches planted all over his precious cheeks, and his reaction nearly broke your heart. He turned slightly to reveal a plethora of bandages wrapped around his shoulders, upper back, and bare chest. It hurt to watch. He mumbled something quietly, so much so that you couldn’t quite make it out, though it sounded something along the lines of “this is what I look like?” You motioned the toolkit to him, and he nodded.   
With that, you turned to face him. He sat crisscrossed, as did you. Your torsos sat parallel to each other, and he watched your every move carefully. You flicked the kit open and pulled out the supplies that were needed for this part of the procedure: stitching, tweezers, a syringe, and morphine. As you filled the needle with the numbing medication, Jonathan suddenly gripped onto your arm.   
“No.” He ordered with an especial firmness, and you glanced up to find his eyes set on you intensely. “I want to feel this.” You looked to him with uncertainly, but his hellish stare remained unchanged. You sighed and set the syringe back into the kit.   
“Are you sure?” You questioned. His gaze softened into yours, and his grip on your arm loosened. Though, he didn’t let go. He nodded. “Okay. This may hurt.” You warned.   
“Good.”


	3. The news won’t say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a talk with Jonathan. He soon finds that maybe the streets of Gotham aren’t entirely filled with strays. Resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter my dudes. This was just a quick little story, and I really liked making it. If you have any suggestions on who to write ab, let me hear it. :)

Ch3

His shoulders were covered in second degree burns, ones which you poured hydrogen peroxide and alcohol over, glazed with cream, and sealed up with layers of bandaging. His pained winces subsided into sighs of pleasure at the lack of pain in his back and shoulders. All that was left to do was pull pieces of debris from his chest. This part was why you insisted on the morphine.   
“Sit back.” You ordered gently, and he followed. You grabbed the tweezers and brought them to his chest as carefully as possible. The heat radiating from his chest felt terribly intoxicating against your face in the coldness of your home, and it was quite the motivator in your attempt at surgery. He tensed up when the tweezers met his heated skin, causing him to draw a ragged breath. Slowly and with the upmost caution, you pulled at the largest piece of metal that had been sliced into him. He leveled his breathing, eyeing your movements as though he were studying the science of you. You noticed, but you said nothing. Using your fingertips and tweezers, you extracted the shard from him and placed it in a dish beside you on the bed.   
“Were you not wearing ear protection?” Jonathan asked as you prodded at his chest. You glanced up to him to find his strangely large eyes probing your own.   
“If you’re asking if Tetch got into my head, the answer is no,” You replied with a slight smile, “but no, I didn’t have any on.”   
“Impossible.” He responded, clearly befuddled. “Mr. Tetch shows mercy to no one.”   
“I don’t know.” You shrugged, mostly because you didn’t have a solid answer to give him. You weren’t exactly sure why Tetch spared you an entranced operation and self-maiming.   
“He just let you,” Jonathan stopped, searching for the right words as you pulled out another piece of metal, “work on him?” You nodded. It was true. When you walked into your guest room earlier that day, Jervis had already woken up and was sitting in bed. When you came to his aid cautiously, he only asked if you had a waste container, then proceeded to throw up until he couldn’t. His body shook and he coughed profusely, so you brought him a cup of hot tea when his stomach had settled. He could’ve easily used his power to have you patch him up then kill yourself. He didn’t, though. He thanked you for your kind gestures and shared a collection of his favorite tales and nursery rhymes from his childhood. You worked on his wounds, most of which were on his face, shared recipes with him, and stitched up his hat. For that, he lit up like a Christmas tree, sticking the newly repaired top hat atop his head and thanking you immensely. Now, he lie soundly in the guest room, fixed up and recovering through nature’s greatest remedy: sleep.   
“You want to drive Gotham into a corner or something?” You asked, glancing up at Jonathan for a reaction. He displayed none aside from a slight flash of disproval in his eye. It quickly passed. “At least, that’s what I’m assuming. The news won’t say.” He stiffened and furrowed his brows angrily.   
“The news won’t say?” He repeated, his tone laced with as much agitation as concern.   
“What you three have done, your motives, they’re pointless. At least, on paper they are.” You explained to him, seeing as he was thoroughly confused. “Gotham believes that this is a game. A cry for attention-”  
“What do you think?” He cut in. His eyes bore into yours with a blazing curiosity to them. He was only a kid, after all.   
“That’s why I ask.” You answered, suddenly trying to dodge his eye contact. There was an excruciating silence that went on for long enough to remove two more pieces of debris from his chest. The dish was piling up, and there were fewer and fewer fragments of metal jammed into his skin as you worked.   
“I was spineless, weak. Afraid of everything. My father’s work was designed to save me. It could’ve very well saved Gotham.” He explained, his chest heaving from a piece of metal that was becoming difficult to remove. “I would never wish my pains onto anyone.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “But look at me now.” He nearly cracked a smile.   
“Yes,” you raise a brow, “look at you now.” You pulled the relentless shard free from him, and he grunted in pain.   
“A tad bit of pain pales in comparison to a life spent imprisoned by what we fear most. It holds us back.” His glittering eyes met yours and have never before looked so frighteningly serious. He stood beside everything that he was saying to no end. “I will rid Gotham of fear.”   
“Can I ask you something, Mr. Crane?” You question with caution, and you could feel his body tense against you at the use of his last name. You glance up to find him nodding, his eyes closed. “Let’s say that this gas is released and the user is guaranteed to overcome whatever they fear the most.” You began, swallowing hard. He nods once, taking in the situation that you’ve provided. “There’s a man out there who has never committed rape. He’d always been too afraid of the consequences to try. Now, he fears nothing.” You stopped, and his eyes reopened wildly.   
“That’s not what I meant-“  
“And now, there are women everywhere that have never once felt the paranoia of serial rapists. They’ve had no reason to. Now, they suddenly do.” You explained, leaving him without words. “You cannot cure fear, Jonathan. You can only create a new fear. Fear that was never present beforehand. This world is not meant to be fearless. It isn’t possible.” You pulled the last of the shards out of his chest and dropped them into the now full dish.   
“I just wanted people to understand...” he trailed off.   
“They do. They’re everywhere, all of them just as frightened as you used to be,” you swallowed hard, “including me.” His head snapped to you, and you noticed his eyes glistening.   
“How?” He questioned as you began bandaging his chest after coating it in ointment. He grabbed your hand, stopping you in place. “How?” He pressed further. “How can you sit so close?” He pushed his matted, shoulder-length hair from his burning eyes and leaned in closer. “Where’s the fear?”   
“I don’t know you.” You breathed shakily. “I know what the papers tell me. I know the Scarecrow.” You stopped, cherishing the youthful glow and innocence etched into his features, even as bashed up as his cheeks had gotten in the mess. The scratches and blood were seemingly nothing in comparison to the freshness of his face. “But that’s not who’s standing in front of me.” He flinched, as though your words had pierced directly through his drumming heart.   
“Then who?” He asked very slowly, looking away.   
“Jonathan.” You answered. He scoffed, and you put a hand up to silence him. “Not a frightened little boy, not Dr. Crane’s guinea pig, not the Scarecrow.” You took a sharp breath, careful to pace your wording for him. “Just Jonathan.” He glanced into the mirror at his messy hair and sleepless eyes, scanning the imitation of himself disapprovingly.   
“It’s ugly.” He turned away. “This little boy, it can’t be me.”   
“Maybe to you.” you started, shifting your position to where you now sat behind him. He faced the mirror, and you leaned to the nightstand beside the bed, picking up a hairbrush. He skittishly faced you, then relaxed when you brought a calming hand onto his shoulder. You could feel his muscles relax underneath your fingertips. Without forewarning him, you took a tangled lock of his hair and brought the brush to it, careful to unknot it without hurting him. “But not to me.” He watched as you took more and more of his lightly colored mane into your hand and brushed it out. You appreciated the way it resembled smooth waves of silk when it fell to his shoulders. As you brushed, he continued to stare, touching along the dark circles that ran beneath his eyes. It almost looked as though he couldn’t believe who he was staring at. “You need sleep.” You nearly whispered, and he turned to you. “If you two want to leave tomorrow morning, you can, but you need a night’s rest just as much as Jervis.”   
“I already have. I’ve awoken just an hour ago.” He argued.  
“No, not unconsciousness. Sleep.” You corrected, and he sighed. “Actual sleep.”  
“I can’t sleep. I haven’t in quite a time.” He answered with his head bowed. You ran a hand through his long, silken hair, ruffling it. Your nails brushed across the back of his neck, causing him to shudder slightly, and he cleared his throat. “Sleep induces dreams. Happiness, whimsy, sadness.”  
“Fear.” You added, and he nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing that you fear nothing.” You smiled. He nodded again and pulled the covers to him, encasing him in a chrysalis of safety. As he settled more, he glanced to his suit and the tubes that ran through it, disgusted.   
“Unplug those tubes.” He ordered quietly. “Destroy them.” You looked to him, unsure, then jumped from the bed and strolled to the corner of the room. In a single grasp, you plucked every gas-filled tube from the chambers of his suit and yanked them free. The gas was only a liquid, so it merely spilled from the chambers and onto the shag carpeting at your feet. There was no aftermath. No effect. You glanced to him, both yours and his eyes locking tightly.   
“You’ll sleep?” You asked, relieved that he was at least considering it. He said nothing but settled like a deflating balloon into the covers. You smiled and turned for the door after clearing the bed of your tools and hairbrush. “You’re free to stay as long as you need to. You’re also free to leave after you wake up whenever you’d like.” With that, you twisted the knob and started out, reaching for the light switch.   
“Wait.” He nearly pleaded. The word was gentle and so hushed that it came out almost inaudible, but you stopped at the open doorway.   
“Yes?” You cooed. At this point, you were beyond curious to understand what it was that Jonathan could’ve possibly been asking of you. He’d asked the bare minimal of questions from the time he’d woken up to now. In fact, he hadn’t spoken that much in general.   
“Leave the lights on.” He spoke softly, almost asking. You stared blankly, and instead, began walking back to him, turning off the lights beforehand. He flinched slightly, then relaxed when he realized what you’d done. You climbed into the bed and nuzzled under the covers, right next to him.   
It didn’t take more than a couple minutes before he passed out, despite the lack of light. You wanted to show him that there was no need to avoid something that he was afraid of. That he could face a fear head on with nothing more than another person at his side. And he did. You could hear his light breathing against the covers beside you, fully relaxed and in the most comfortable state he could possibly be in. You drifted off, slowly and almost unwillingly, and even though the day was one of chaos, you were pleased with the result. You would gladly do this again, even knowing that by tomorrow, the two would be back onto the cold, unforgiving streets of Gotham. All that mattered was that Jonathan had the chance to see himself for what he was. Not a monster, not a villain, and certainly not a Scarecrow.   
He was just Jonathan, and that was enough.


End file.
